Page 65 of Ten

Adrian had been in the back room of the house. It had been converted into a torture chamber, like something out of theSAWfranchise. Chains, padlocks, chairs, exam tables, a bed, a dog kennel, and a wall of torture implements straight from the Middle Ages. The biting burn of bleach had saturated the whole space. A putrid stench from the drain in the center of the room had turned his stomach.

But it was the sight of that little boy asleep on the stained mattress that had nearly driven him to his knees.

The two fucking idiots had gotten the sedation dose wrong, and the kid was knocked out cold. Being so skinny and small had saved him from the horrors that others had experienced in that space. Adrian and Tony couldn’t do anything with him if he was asleep so Tony had gone back to Houston for food and equipment.

What happened in that room to Adrian, Ten would never know. Kostya and Artyom had given him the little boy and charged him with returning the child to his mother and then finding Tony Guerrero. All Ten knew for sure was that Adrian had not enjoyed the last few hours of his life.

Returning the child to his mother had been the easy part. She had been overjoyed and wept as she took him in her arms. He had left as quickly as possible, not wanting to be any part of the police or EMS response that was soon to come. The mother, an employee at Samovar, had understood how these things worked. She had kept quiet about the involvement of Kostya, Artyom, and Ten.

Finding Tony had proven more difficult than he had expected. He had gone to the usual haunts including Tony’s mother’s house and the place Tony shared with his older brother. Ten had driven through the Hermanos-controlled streets and visited the cheap strip clubs Tony liked to frequent. They were the sort of club where the girls were long in the tooth, hooked on drugs, and didn’t mind Tony touching them if he gave them a few dollars.

He had driven by Adrian’s house twice but had decided to go back a third time before contacting Kostya to let him know he couldn’t find Tony. That third time, he had seen Tony’s car parked in the driveway. He had pulled in behind the car, blocking Tony from a quick escape. As fat as the man was, he wouldn’t get very far on foot if he tried to bolt out the back door.

When he stepped inside the house, there had been a strange, eerie feeling. There was a stillness, oppressive and dark, and Ten had crept through the house, alert and ready to find the worst.

Someone had taken a hammer or something heavy to a padlocked door, busting it right off the wall where it had been mounted. When he pushed the door open with the toe of his shoe, he’d discovered Tony, flat on his back by an open safe.

Whatever had been in the safe was gone, but it seemed as if there had been a scuffle of some kind. Computer monitors and towers had been knocked over, and the numerous routers and cords and other electronic equipment he couldn’t name had been ripped out of the wall.

Tony was right in the middle of it, his mouth open, face a battered mask of blood. Ten had crouched down next to the body and reached out to check for a pulse. There had been one, faint and thready, and the soft puff of air from Tony’s ruined mouth was the only indication the man was still trying to breathe.

Knowing what a monster he was, Ten hadn’t been in a hurry to call for an ambulance. Instead, he had checked the safe, finding only a single missed flash drive. Back next to Tony, he’d picked up a router, the front of it dented all to hell and cracked. It was coated in blood, and he’d realized that someone had used it to beat Tony.

Before he could put much thought into who had battered Tony, the man began to wheeze and make agonal sounds. Remembering what he had seen back at the torture house and the way Adrian had blubbered and blabbed about Tony being the one who actually hurt the kids, Ten had made a life-changing decision.

If he let Tony live, there would be an investigation. There would be questions. The police would use Adrian’s involvement in whatever this nightmare molestation situation was to dig into the family’s business. They would use RICO or some other bullshit to crack open the outer shell of Nikolai’s organization.

If Tony lived, he might tell stories that were better unspoken. He might open his fat mouth to get a deal. Considering what he had done, Tony wouldn’t last long in prison unless he had serious protections in place before he went inside. Even then, he wasn’t likely to make it a full year, not with the cartel and Nikolai trying to silence him.

No, if Tony lived, it would cause more problems than it solved.

So, Ten had made a choice. He placed his big hand over Tony’s mouth and nose and pressed down hard, sealing off the mushy, bloody openings that let him breathe. He put his knee on Tony’s chest, holding him in place until Tony stopped twitching for breath. He held on a little longer, keeping his hand in place until he was absolutely certain Tony was dead.

And that was how the two police officers responding to a 9-1-1 call from a suspicious neighbor had found him.

Leaning over Tony, his knee on the other man’s chest, his hand covering the other man’s battered face.

By sunrise, Ten sat in a jail cell, accused of murder. Eventually, it would be pleaded down to a manslaughter charge, and he would get actual fucking pats on the back from police officers and prison guards for taking care of a child molester.

Of course, that wasn’t quite the whole story. Yes, Ten had finished off Tony, but someone else had beaten him nearly to death.

Thirteen months into his sentence, Ten had received an unexpected visitor. When he had stepped into the room to sit at his assigned place, he had assumed it would be Kostya or Artyom coming to tell him something in a coded message.

As soon as he had seen her sitting there on that stool, nervously twirling her dark hair around her finger, Ten’s steps had faltered.

It was Chess.

When he picked up the phone so he could hear her voice, he had thought for sure that she was going to tell him something had happened to Artyom.

But that was not the case.

“Ten,” she had said, her voice breaking as she wept. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

“Stop,” he had commanded roughly, finally understanding. “You shut your fucking mouth and go.”

“But, I have to tell—.”

“You don’t say another fucking word to anyone.Anyone,” he had emphasized coldly. “You carry this to your grave.”

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